


Do Ladies Do That?

by FlyingPigPoet



Series: Move! I'm Rising Above It! [6]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingPigPoet/pseuds/FlyingPigPoet
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854), Mariana Lawton/Anne Lister (1791-1840)
Series: Move! I'm Rising Above It! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1494254
Comments: 32
Kudos: 58





	1. My Gait, Diminished

The courtyard of Shibden, which usually passes in a blur--  
Mud, a carriage, chickens, Argus, perhaps a servant--today,  
Trudging bloodily through it, takes more time than I'd planned.

My usual 25-minute walk to or from Crow Nest took more  
Than half an hour. I don't even know how much more. My eyes  
Are blurry. My watch is blurry. That miscreant thug took even

That from me, my sense of time. I wonder if that is what Dante  
Was trying to describe, but then I pass into the hall, and voices,  
A male voice in fact, decrying the Reform Act for "not going far

Enough" explains some things to me, things, this morning,  
I am not ready to explore. I stop short of the dining room.  
My breath is ragged, my grip on my hat weak. Cordingly,

Once I shush her, is handy, if too worried on my account.  
I hand her my hat, ask for warm water in my room, tell her  
On no account is she to call for Dr. Kenny . I say,

"It's nothing. I just need some warm water. Could you  
Bring it up to my room?" "Yes, ma'am," she says, as if  
I were her mother, not her employer, but servants do not

Have such feelings for us, nor should they. I struggle  
Upstairs to my room, struggle to untie, undo my stock,  
Take off my greatcoat, then she brings in the water.

She offers to, but I say, "No. Thank you. I'll do it." I pull  
Myself to my feet and she offers to get me brandy,  
My father or aunt, Dr. Kenny. And laughing even a little

Makes me cough. "Just let me know when Mr. Abbott  
Has gone. Thank you. You have things to do." She brings  
A package from my study and stumps off. I pull part

The packaging from the little leather box enclosing  
The beautiful onyx ring I had hoped-- But now such  
Hopes are blasted by Ann's inability to hope at all.


	2. Fell Off a Wall

Breakfast, never good at the best of times, unless She's traveling,  
Becomes a cabinet of curios when She is actually at home. Today,  
She comes home with interesting bruises, and an even more

Interesting tale of having fallen off a wall--in the dark (of course).  
"Why?" asks our aunt. "Because it was there," I say with conviction.  
"Like Mont Blanc." But our aunt asks, "Which wall?" "The one,"

She says, "coming back from Lightcliffe." (It's clear to me that  
Her head must be aching.) Our father asks, "Not the one that falls  
Fifteen feet on the other side?" And She answers (snarking), "Well,

It wouldn't have been worth doing if it was any lower." Aunt Ann,  
Who normally knows her well, says, "In all that wind? Who on Earth  
Put you up to that?" "No one!" she insisted, "Me. That's why I didn't

Come down for dinner last night. How did it go with Mister...."  
"Abbott," I say. "It went well." Noting the unfocused gazes of our  
Aunt and father, Anne asks, "Are you sure?" "It went well," I say.

Aunt Ann tries to change the subject: "How is Miss Walker?"  
"Oh, she's--" And there is a look on Anne's face I've only seen  
A time or two before, usually after weddings. She excuses herself

And rushes outside. I follow, giving her time to spew on the ground  
Before I address her. "Those aren't the sort of injuries one gets  
From falling off a wall." But I don't really want to ask questions

And get answers I don't really want to hear. She's old enough.  
She can make her own decisions. All I say is, "And if you would  
Be present next time, when he brings his mother, I'd be grateful."


	3. Correspondences

_Dearest Mary, As I am more keen than ever to be off,_

_I am in dire need of a groom, since I have been without_

_Since George Playforth's demise--_

(shot out of a tree,

And falling to earth like a rock. Suddenly, I sympathize.

I stretch my aching hands. I did not realize how much

Punching someone in the jaw might hurt the knuckles)

_A little enterprise necessary or he will soon tire_

_Of the Continent long before I have any inducement_

_To return from it. Do think of this for me. Anne_

_Dearest Fred, There is a man who might suit. He does_

_Understand horses and carriages and has a good_

_Character. I believe he would do anything to make_

_Himself useful to you--_

(as I do now, when this is all

I can do for you, for the time being, while Charles is

Still alive. It may not make up for your disappointment,

My darling widower. But it is what I can do, for now)

_Tell me, Fred, is it Ann Walker of Crow Nest with whom_

_You plan to travel?_ _You mentioned her_ t _wice in your last_

_As 'my friend'..._

(And once you called me friend, before

Lover and wife, once, long ago, when we were young

And believed we could make the world to our liking,

That love was more powerful than fortune, that all

The myths we wanted to believe to be true, were)

_Dearest Mary, It sounds as if your man would suite me_

_Down to the ground._

(I have been a grounded Icarus

These last months. But why build wings and not fly?)


	4. On the Sofa

I was reading the paper again with my magnifying glass  
When she rushed in like a whirlwind, kissed me, told me  
The good news about the groom Mariana had found for her.  
"I'll put him on wages straight away and be off, your health  
Permitting and the weather." I told her of Jeremiah Rawson's  
Letter; she scanned it. "What's he want?" I asked. But it was just  
Coal, again. She lay down on the sofa opposite me and put  
Her feet up, just like her Uncle James used to do when he  
Also was fretting. "Are you all right?" I asked. She said, "Mm."

But I'm used to that from her, as I was from him. She is  
The son I could not have. James knew that from the time  
She was a teen, always getting into mischief. I said, "I couldn't  
Warm to Mr. Abbott, much as I wanted to. I found him  
Abrasive and a know-all. But she seems to like him, and he  
Has done very well for himself... It would be a great comfort  
To me, to know you're both settled." And she looked away.  
"Mm." Her hand tapped restlessly against her waistcoat.  
"I'm afraid it might all be off between me and Miss Walker,

Us setting up home together. She may be too nervous  
And insipid for me. It's a shame, because I, I've become  
More fond of her than I ever imagined. I thought we might  
Be good for each other, irrespective of her money. She is  
So sweet, so kind. And she l-- looks up to me." I saw that.  
Even as a child the other girls and boys always took Anne  
As their leader in games. "So what--" I began. "Them!  
Her tribe of relations fill her head with nasty nonsense  
About me. She just wants the courage to follow her h--

Her instincts. But she won't. She stay surrounded by them  
And her world will get smaller and sadder until one day  
There'll be nothing left then she'll just--" She snapped  
Her fingers. "disappear!" And for the first moment   
In a long time, I thought she might be about to cry. Then  
She sat up, said, "It's all off." "But who will you travel with?"  
"No one." "Do people do that? Ladies?" "I'll take Eugenie  
And this groom, see what Providence throws at me."  
All I say is, "It's a big step for her, moving in here..."


	5. It's Not Like You, Ma'am...

By now I run on instinct when it comes to Miss Lister,  
Treating her, talking to her, as I'd talk to another man,  
Which is as well, because when I see the marks on her  
Face and automatically say, "Been in the wars, ma'am?"

She simply says, "After a fashion" and I know to move on.  
I update her on my progress having men tender their bids,  
But she says she wants to put the pit-sinking on hold, and  
Says it's because the Rawsons got back to her, and I do

Wonder if the Rawsons maybe got to her indeed. I ask,  
"Are they not messing you about? It's not like you to go  
Back on a decision." But she answers as if it's a choice  
She's made based on logic, then changes the subject.


	6. Public Hanging

I was walking in the dark through Crow Nest, so bright  
During the day, so dark at night. I had a candle that was  
Lighting my way through the halls, but a window hung  
Open and the wind blew out the flame. I stood there, alone,  
Disoriented and someone grabbed me from behind, a man

By the smell of him, and dragged me in my thin white  
Sleeping gown, dragged me out the back door, dragged me  
Over the rough ground behind the house, out to the wood  
Just past the road. I screamed and screamed, but no sound  
Left me. I tried to call for Anne, but they bound my mouth.

A while I dozed, dazed from a punch to the temple,   
And when I woke again I was in Halifax, right in the town  
Square, and flames were leaping up in the night, and I saw  
Her, in effigy, in her black pelise and top hat, going up  
In bright flames. The crowd, screaming and hissing and 

Calling us rude names, jostled the cart I suddenly found  
Myself in, and it was morning and I saw the Rawsons,  
Catherine, Delia, and their mother, and Eliza Priestley,  
All calling for us to be hanged, and I thought at first,  
At least they didn't catch Anne; she must have outrun them,

But then I looked to my left and there she was, also  
In her nightshirt, also battered and bloodied like me.  
And as the bishop harangued the rabid crowd, and he  
Shouted about fornication and looking lustfully at women,  
While the crowd shouted, "Hang the whores!" I looked

Up ahead and there above us was a structure, a gallows,  
With two nooses, one for someone taller, the other for me.  
And the bishop was shouting about "adultery in her heart"  
And the advisability of ripping out one's eye if it cause  
You to sin (though the part of me I consider to be my

Inner Lister notes that he has both his eyes, and what  
Man has never thought lustfully about a woman?)  
But she's there, bloodied but unbowed, looking  
Frightfully willing to put her head in the noose,  
Frightfully in love with me and, naturally, unafraid.


	7. Private Darkness

I wake to screaming, light my candle, run to her room.  
She is sitting up, gasping, her face wet, her pulse  
Racing. "What's the matter?" I ask. "Ann, what  
On Earth's the matter? Have you had a nightmare?  
You've had a nightmare." But she is still in it, I think.

"No!" she protests. "No! Shush! Stop it! Stop it!"  
And she's sobbing, ceaselessly, and I don't know  
What to do but hold her trembling body and insist  
That what she experienced, is still experiencing,  
Is just a queer fiction of her fevered body or mind.

But this is all too much, first the things Mrs. Priestley  
Said about the two men hanged, and then her bizarre  
Sudden weakness and unwillingness to talk much or  
To ask Miss Lister to leave. Now this madness. I think  
It is past time I packed and made my way home.


	8. My Brother Thought You Might Have

When first she strode in, and I saw the bruises and cuts,  
I automatically said, "What happened?" and Captain Lister  
Said, "You should see the other fellow." The ease with which  
She said, "He won't attempt something like that again.  
Whoever paid him to do it should ask for their money back,"  
Sounded true and real. And for a moment I wondered if--

But then Captain Lister said, "She fell off a wall." My relief  
Was palpable. Before I could ask what she was doing  
On a wall, she said, "You wanted to discuss the terms again?  
Why? Has your position altered?" "No," I say, "But my brother  
Thought... yours might have..." Her glance is dark and piercing.  
"Did he?" she asks. "Why?" And I scramble, because I had not

Before this moment, wondered why he might think that she  
Would, might, change her mind. And these cuts, these bruises  
Make me wonder in another direction. I prevaricate. "Well,  
Having had time to dwell upon it..." She looks me directly  
In the eye, says, "Hmm." And then, "Oddly enough, my position  
Has altered slightly, and not for reasons clear to your brother.

I'm prepared to offer you an abatement for the upper bed--"  
And then she did maths that I did not follow. "And the reason  
For it," she says, "is a sincere desire to just get on with it.  
But I am not going back on the clauses and there will be   
A 500 pound fee if any water is turned on the pit." I did not  
Know how to handle her; I just said Christopher would decide.


	9. And I Didn't Fall off a Wall

Always when I watch her doing business negotiations,  
I think my army days were easier: load, shoot, reload,  
Try not to get shot. It seems that coal mining is a nastier  
Business than war, which is saying something. I ask,

"But weren't we planning on sinking our own pit?"  
She sighs very deeply says, "I don't know. Miss Walker  
Blows hot and cold. It's not her fault. Her relations put  
Ridiculous ideas in her head. She had said I could borrow

The money, but I can't. I won't. And I didn't fall off a wall.  
I was beaten up by a thug, whom someone must have paid,  
I assume, the Rawsons. Not Jeremiah--even rice puddings  
Don't fear him. But Christopher, oh yes, he thinks he can

Get away with anything, and he wants to warn me off,  
Make me sign the blasted lease without insisting on any  
Inconvenient clauses. He was also the idiot driving the gig  
That caused the accident where little Henry Hardcastle

Lost his leg. He was seen. You did right to warn me off  
Coal--a nasty business. But I won't be beaten, not by him."  
We are interrupted by Cordingly, telling us that James  
From Crow Nest has a message for her, and I tell her, "Go."


	10. It's So Much Worse Than Last Time

I've had my doubts about Miss Lister, based on what  
My family says about her, for and against, but it seems  
To me that she is a more constant friend to Ann than this  
Miss Parkhill, who fled at the first scent of trouble.

And Ann is troubled, has been now and again long since.  
James sent for me when Miss Parkhill called for a carriage  
To Halifax, and I assessed the situation and immediately  
Called for Miss Lister. Strange she may be, but she has

A good head on her shoulders, as they say, and experience,  
As my grandmother notes. An hour from James's departure,  
She strode in, handed her hat and walking stick to him (still  
Out of breath from her pace, which is legend in Halifax),

And immediately asked for an update. "Thank goodness  
You're here," I said. She asked about Miss Parkhill.   
I hedged. "I think she couldn't stand it. I didn't realize  
Ann was so ill, and so much worse than last time..."

Miss Lister's dark eyes drilled into me. I said, "She had  
A terrible nightmare, won't discuss it, and now  
She says she can hear voices. In her room. In the night."  
The sudden devastation I felt was mirrored in her face,

But all she said was, "Where is she?" And as she  
Marched up the back stairs to Ann's bedroom, her spine  
Was as straight as ever, her face a study of enforced calm,  
Her hands squeezing into fists the only sign of her unease.


	11. We Need to Get You Better First

She lies there, pale and ghostlike, the very picture  
Of a restless tearful night, one arm flung out. I reach  
Out to touch her fingers, then withdraw my hand.  
If she is prone to nightmares, an unasked-for touch  
Might induce panic, and I want to be more gentle

And considered. Quietly, I say, "Ann?" It wakes her  
Instantly, and she rises on her knees and embraces  
Me, saying, "I thought you'd gone forever!" and kissing  
My face as if I were the prodigal. "I thought you had   
Given up on me, I'd never see you again! I'm sorry,

Anne, so sorry about all that I said." She pulls back  
To look at my face and sees the almost completely  
Faded bruises. "What happened?" "Nothing." "I told  
Miss Parkhill to leave." I tell her people are worried  
About her. "Tell me what's going on." Once again,

She embraces me frantically, begging, "Don't leave me  
Again. Promise me!" And I pity her pain, but I must  
Be direct with her. "You said what we did was queer  
And repugnant." And she takes it all back. "I love you,  
I want to marry you! I don't want to go abroad, not

In the state I'm in, but everything else!" I shush her  
And we sit on the bed. I try to gather myself. "No,"  
I say, "We need to get you better first." Then,  
She asks me to stay the night, and at first I think  
She means so we can do the very things she took

Issue with, but then she says, "I need you here.  
Some very strange things have been happening  
And no one believes me. If you stay tonight, you will  
Hear them. The spirits in the clock on the landing."  
And I think I have to stay with her to sort it all out.


	12. The Nap, Interrupted

This family. Working for Herself as a lady's maid,  
And working around the sorts of things she always  
Got up to in Paris, a young woman with great energy  
And great charisma, that was one job of work. Then,

After I broke my leg and she travelled without me,  
I had to help Miss Marian with running the household,  
And she is very particular about things, but young  
And able to change her ways when it was needful.

But figuring out whether I should let the elderly Listers  
Continue their unexpected nap in the sitting room  
Or whether I should wake them to give a message  
I know they will want to have gotten... That requires 

Judgment. I give her the note and ask if there will be  
A reply. She uses her magnifying glass to read it,  
Then says there's no reply. I only hope they recall  
The note when they sleep and wake again.


	13. James in the Lister Kitchen

Why is it a finely built man like James of Crow Nest  
Always has an eye for a girl like Eugenie, and never  
For a girl like me? He sits waiting for her to bring  
Miss Lister's overnight bag, and of course Cordingly  
Gives him a snack. He asks where Miss Pierre is from,  
And Cordingly says, "Dieppe? Rouen?" I tell him,  
"We're not overly impressed, Mr. McKenzie, between  
You and me, are we Mrs. Cordingly?" He thinks  
She's "very pretty." Well, don't they all. And of course,  
Eugenie agrees with them. She comes in and dumps  
Miss Lister's trunk in his lap, then sits nearby,  
Twirling a lock of her hair, ignoring John Booth  
When he comes in with a basket of vegetables. No,  
We're not impressed with a woman who would turn  
Her back on a man like Booth, a man with a good  
Christian heart, who would have done right by her.  
Cordingly thanks John warmly, gives her the stinkeye.


	14. The Clock on the Landing

Darkness and a cool breeze rattle the leaves outside,   
But it's the clock on the landing that wakes me, the march  
Of armies sent to deliver death, two, three, four. Measuring  
Time is the work of mechanisms made by man, but we also  
Measure out our lives in heartbeats. Since that horrible day  
Torn in half when the carriage cut us all off and that  
Poor boy was pitched over the bridge and into the sharply  
Reaching trees, I have felt the nearness of death, again.

The clock tolls three times. I rise, immediately wakeful,  
Heart pounding. "Can you hear that?" I whisper, but she  
Sleeps soundly, merely grunting in reply. My tenseness  
Wakes her further and she asks sleepily, "What? Wind?"  
"Listen! You must hear that, surely." She rubs her eyes.  
"What? No, I can't--" "They're talking about you!" I say.  
"Oh, are they? And what are they saying?" I hear her irony,  
And I'm shocked. "Can you really not hear them? Really?"

The room is awash in blues and purples like a bruise.  
She pulls herself up to sit by me, says there is nothing there  
To hear. I report, "You're going to die!" Calmly, she says,  
"Yes, we all are, eventually." "Don't be glib! They'll kill us  
And we'll both burn in hell for all eternity! Surely  
You heard that!" Unlike Harriet Parkhill, she is calm,  
Asks, "How many voices can you hear?" "Three. Shh."  
"Men? Women?" "Men. Once there was a woman."

I am afraid if she keeps talking they will hear her. Then  
We will have no safety. Still the clock on the landing  
Insists on its marching tick and tock. "Are they always  
The same voices?" she asks. "Do you recognize them?"  
I say, "They're disgusting and so cruel. Yes, the same."  
"Where are they?" "In the clock..." She rises, lights one  
Candle and goes out, despite my urging her against it.  
She is far too brave for either her or my good.


	15. The Application of Reason to Nervous Hysteria

As I strike the spark that lights the candle, it is not lost  
On me that the ancients referred to inspiration as a spark,  
Used a lantern as a symbol of knowledge, science, rationality.

She is panicking behind me as I step through the door  
And stand on the landing with my light flickering bravely.  
Shout through the keyhole? I think not. I prefer to face

Such things head on. But there is nothing to face. I say,  
"There's nothing here," and she insists they are spirits,  
And begs me to come back, but I hear the incessant

Ticking and tell her I'm going to remove the weights  
From the clock to stop it from sounding, since that is what  
Has disturbed her, that and the wind. Miss Rawson

Comes out with her candle, worried, and I say someone  
Should stay with Ann. "Would you like to?" "She frightens  
Me..." "I know." Then Ann hears us. "Catherine?" I take

The weights out and Catherine faces her fear, then I join  
Them in Ann's four-poster, and we stay to support her  
All night as she prays and prays. I daresay, in our way,

We are praying to the good and generous Lord to give her  
Comfort, rest. "We're here," Catherine says, rubbing her back.  
"We're both here." The manic praying continues, unanswered.


	16. She Frightens Me

I never before this morning considered breakfast  
A beacon of rationality, but there is something  
About tea and toast and jam that seems so grounding.

Miss Lister asks if anyone's written to Ann's sister  
In Scotland. I don't know but I think someone should.  
I say, tentatively, "She isn't in her right mind..."

Calmly, sadly, Miss Lister says, "I know. Look, Catherine,  
You're being strong and it's what she needs. I took her   
To see a friend a few weeks back, a clever medical man. 

I'd like to take her again, with her sister's consent this time.   
But it would be best if you told no one how bad it is--  
The relations. Because they'll have her put away.

I believe she can make a full recovery, with the right sort   
Of help, and no one else need know any different. "Yes,"  
I say, "Yes, you have the right of it. I shall be silent."


	17. I've Heard the Worst Things

The first time I met Catherine, before they went  
To the Lake District (but after I'd accidentally broken  
The paper knife), I didn't really take her seriously,  
And even after the Lake District (when I did my best  
To agreeabilize with her), I was fairly sure that she  
Didn't care for me. Hey ho. I'm not to everyone's taste.

But this time, when she, although frightened of Ann,  
Stayed by her, with me, through the night, rubbing  
Her back and murmuring comforting words, before  
Finally giving in to weariness and sleeping. I dressed  
And made my toilet first, and she joined me down  
In the dining room for breakfast, and she showed

Her prodigious good sense and kindness, and real  
Friendship with Ann. She agreed to be prudent  
In her communications with the family. That was  
The best I thought I could hope for from her, but  
She surprised me, saying, with great feeling,   
"I've heard the worst things about you, Miss Lister,

And I want to apologize for ever having listened.  
I've never seen such a kind, generous, selfless display  
Of friendship as I saw last night. And I feel ashamed  
For ever having doubted you." It is not often I am  
Left speechless. But even as I thought that "the worst  
Things" she had heard of me were quite likely true,

And she was taking my gentlemanly, friendly acts  
And using them to convince herself that I was more  
Like her, and therefore safe and good, still it's rare  
That someone gives me the benefit of the doubt  
Enough to see me as I am: kind, respectable, true.  
All the things I strive to be despite my circumstances.


	18. Sutherland's Machinations

With one child in the measles and the others too young  
To be left unattended for even a moment, Ann's health  
Troubles couldn't have come at a more inconvenient time.

The Captain took Miss Lister's letter, not as it was intended,  
As a way to get Ann well through a short trip to a clever  
Medical man she knows, and she is very well connected,

But rather as an opportunity to get Ann up here, to get  
His mother's hooks in her for one of their poor relations.  
I saw it clearly, but three children--! It's hard enough

To get time to myself to think clearly for a moment.  
Figuring out how to thwart the Captain and his family's  
Ambitions was beyond my strength, already split three ways.


	19. Sunlight After Years of Constant Dusk

After setting her down at the seamstress's, and bringing  
The pig to town, I found ways of killing the time in Halifax  
Until she was on her way back, and made like it was naught.

She seemed unhappy, which gave me a small pain, like  
It were mine, and I suggested we take a rest in the shade  
Of the trees before we finished the ride home. She seemed

Relieved to take her bonnet off, and her beautiful hair  
Caught the sunlight, dappled, coming down between leaves  
Bringing flickers of gold... She said she didn't want to work

For the woman, who was a relic, that there would be no fun.  
She said they always had fun at their house after tea, and  
Did we? "Um, yeah, since me dad went, yeah." So posh.

What woman would want to go with a lad like me, with no  
Fine words like her family all have. But I plow on. "So...  
Miss Lister said that when I get tenancy, she'd prefer it 

If I got married. Said she likes her people married.   
Said it makes them more settled and reliable." She looked  
Thoughtful, finally said, "Do you want to marry me?"

That feeling again, as though I had swallowed the sun.  
"I don't think your dad would like it. I'm not good enough."  
But she acted like being married to me, living in our house

Wouldn't be the worst thing, that she quite liked me, that  
If I were serious, I'd have to speak to her father. And though  
The day was ending, I felt my chest fill with brilliant sunlight.


	20. Our Land, Yes

She roars in like a Nor'easter, heading for her study, I think,  
But the moment I say Mister Washington has been looking  
For her, she stops and turns, possibly even listens to what  
I have to say, that there are a great many men up at Brierly  
Hill filling in the Rawson's pit, and tearing up the access road.

She says, "The access road's on my land." "Yes, that's what I--  
Our land. Yes. That's what Mister Washington said. He said  
They've got no right to touch the road-- And you missed  
Mister Abbott and his mother." But she's off to handle it.  
Honestly, sometimes, I really do not even know why I try.


	21. Not Talking to That Bloody Jack

As I marched up to the Willy Hill pit, marching into the fray,  
Hinscliffe was saying, "I'm doing what I've been told to do."  
And I could hear Washington arguing just as fiercely, "But that   
Road is on Shibden land, whether you like it or not. And when

Miss Lister... You can tell her yourself." My stride wasn't fast  
Enough. I shouted, "What's going on here?" But Hinscliffe turned  
Away and climbed the hill. I heard him saying, "Fucking hell.  
I'm not talking to that bloody Jack." I reached Washington,

Slightly out of breath. "What's happening?" He sighed.  
"Rawsons have called the pit in." "So? What's Hinscliffe  
Doing here?" And then Washington explained about Hinscliffe's  
Lease with the Rawsons and his responsibility to fill in

An exhausted pit, making it safe, demolishing outbuildings,  
And selling off the stone. I say, "That road is on Shibden land.  
That's my stone." "He said it's in his contract with Rawson  
To decommission the road along with everything else."

"That's wrong. The pit may be on the Rawson land, but  
The road is on mine and I want the value of my stone.  
Hinscliffe!" "Be careful, ma'am... He's not in a good mood."  
"What a coincidence. Neither am I." And he tried to make

A case for Hinscliffe's mood and why I ought to tread  
Carefully, but I was done with such pussyfooting. I climbed  
Up to Hinscliffe and declared, "That's my land. Tell your men  
To leave it alone. I don't care about your arrangement

With Rawson." And while he was fish out of water staring,  
I turned and shouted, "Anyone who pulls up another single  
Stone will have the inconvenience of a trip to Wakefield jail!"  
Interestingly, Hinscliffe's people seem to dislike inconvenience.


	22. Don't Take It Personally

Having worked for the Listers for many years, I watched  
Anne grow up, pursue her studies, gradually take over more  
Of running the estate, and use her prodigious mind to improve  
The land, run off poachers with a gun, and face down men  
Who took a dislike to her both on the road and in company.  
She has an eye for detail and a memory for numbers, which,  
To be frank, her father always lacked. So even when business

Turns complicated or nasty or, as in this instance, both,  
I do my best to guide her, only considering her best interest.  
In this case, there is little to do. We can keep the stone  
On her land of course, but the coal is trickier, mainly because  
It's Christopher Rawson she's dealing with. I tell her not   
To take it personally. She is not the first person Christopher  
Has swindled, and certainly, she will not be the last.


	23. Vigil

By day, she is tolerably well, though she has little appetite,  
And doesn't dress until noon. In the night, however, she is  
Another person altogether. The darkness oppresses her,  
And all three of us are weighed down by it. Catherine, again,  
Despite her trepidation, comes to us in nightdress and hair  
Braided for sleep, but none of us sleep, not for many hours.

Ann clings to the Book of Common Prayer I gave her,  
Mindlessly repeating the Lord's Prayer as a sort of armor,  
A litany meant to agreeabilize with Heaven, I suppose.  
Outside, the leaves rattle in the breeze, but at least   
I was able to silence the clock, though her hand ticks against  
The book. All we can do is rub her back and keep watch.


	24. Creditably Free

I always say I'll stop comparing women, but how  
Can I help it? I keep finding myself looking on  
A woman taken by sleep and wondering about  
What she might be dreaming of. I have learned  
She is rarely dreaming of me. Eliza didn't, nor  
Marianna nor her sister nor Tibs. Perhaps  
Mrs. Barlow, since she'd wake and roll over  
And continue with me once she'd managed  
To wake me. But then, that was Paris after all.

Today I stand stroking Ann's ears, her hair  
Shining in the morning sunlight. Now that she  
Is finally resting easily, I hate to wake her,  
But duty calls and I don't dare leave without  
Telling her. She makes me promise to return,  
But I wonder how long all this will last. __


	25. Catherine's Advice

When I received Captain Sutherland's letter, I did  
Wonder, not having met the man, how to take his  
Counterproposal rejecting my idea of Dr. Belcombe  
And York and, yes, me, and replacing it with him  
Taking Ann back to Scotland with him, and seeking  
A clever medical man in Edinburgh. Some men  
Always assume that their idea is better than that  
Come to by a woman; I did not know enough  
About him to be able to judge if that were the case.

He said his wife was writing separately to Ann,  
And their letters should reach us both the same day.  
I hiked over to Crow Nest, agitated and swinging  
My walking stick. When I arrived, indeed I found  
Ann and Catherine discussing Elizabeth's letter.  
Catherine seemed enthusiastic for Ann to have  
A change of air and scenery, and a chance to see  
The children and Elizabeth. Weakly, Ann asked  
What I thought. I dared not set myself against

Catherine, newly won, or the family, still quite,  
I thought, unwon over, so I agreed tentatively.  
"Catherine and your sister are right. A change   
Of air is exactly what Dr. Belcombe prescribed."  
Ann says, "He meant Paris or Rome with you."  
"Yes," I say, "but the time for that is gone, and   
You need to be a lot better for that. This, for now  
Seems the best." But Ann disagreed. "I thought   
You wrote for permission to take me to York."

"I did, but they seem to think this is better."  
"They?" "Your sister." "They do not know me."  
Catherine, who is closer with her sister, says,   
"She's your sister!" I say, "We'll travel together   
When you're better." "You'll still go to Europe  
Come spring?" "Well, yes, but no sooner than May..."  
"With who?" "No one. A man and a maid..."  
Catherine stared. "Do ladies do that?" I sighed.  
"Not as a rule, no." Why must everyone ask that?


	26. Before the Light Falls

Every time Ann says those four words, I come unhinged.  
"Will you stay tonight?"   
It means she's afraid to be alone in the dark, afraid of her  
Nightmares, her feverish sleep, broken by feverish worry.

Today, I cannot tell how she means it. I also have had  
Too little sleep these last few days. But I had also thought  
To speak with her on a subject, so I ask Catherine if she  
Might give us a moment alone. Generously, she says,  
"Of course. I should get some fresh air before the light falls."  
Later that phrase would stick in my head for this moment.

She left. I took a fresh breath. Ann whispered, "I've lost you,  
Haven't I?" I can feel tears threatening, but I say, "You  
Needn't have..." "If I go to Scotland, I'll never see you again."  
My hands are working and my brain isn't working with me.  
I say, "That's not necessarily the case... I bought a ring.  
I know you told me not to send for it, but I already had.

It's rather splendid. Be loath to send it back..." I took  
The little leather box from my skirt pocket, opened it,  
And knelt before her, offering it, my heart clenched.  
"Will you accept it? Will you accept me, and mean it,  
And not just say it because you're scared to be alone  
Tonight..." She laid her hands on mine and for a moment  
I had hope. But then she pulled away, crying, holding  
Her own face in her hands, whispering, "I can't. I can't."  
I flipped the box closed. Once again, the light falls.


	27. Letter to M--

When the letter came from Halifax, Charles merely shrugged:  
Such is what we've come to. It's all in plainhand, as she  
Calls it, so even had he read it, there would have been nought  
To disturb him beyond her mention that she was picking up  
Her carriage at the Norcliffes and traveling south to London  
For two weeks. Her handwriting is quick and decisive, but  
Also, I think, disturbed. Yes, I can tell her emotions from her  
Hand, which is much neater and smaller when she is calm.

She wishes me to join her there for part or all the fortnight.  
It's been months since we had a good kiss I think, for  
God knows, he's no good at it. I had thought to give him  
An heir, to win his inheritance, and when he died, to raise  
The child or children at Shibden. But every year, he grows  
Hardier yet more limp, and my hope of fortune should he die  
Is all in her hands. Anne says she's not traveling with that  
Woman, her little friend, which renews my sagging hope.


	28. As You Never Tire of Reminding Everyone

I consider myself a calm and patient lady. I do not  
Throw fits, have the vapors or swoon. In that, I am like  
All the other women in our family. But even my patience  
Has limits. And just as I refer to her as Caligula, she calls  
Me Vesuvius. She's not half wrong. And she is also often

The cause of my eruptions. Aunt Anne, of course, is   
The opposite. She is sweet and kind, always wanting  
The best for everyone. And while Anne has been sniffling,  
I am merely picking at my food, but Aunt Anne notices.  
"Are you ill too? You're quiet..." So I decide to let it loose.

"I've not heard anything from Mr. Abbott for three weeks."  
"D'you think--" "He did mention, as he left, that he'd visited  
Twice, and both times Miss Lister had failed to appear."  
"It's you he's interested in, not me," Anne said. That's when  
The low rumbles became a cacaphony. I said, "You are

Miss Lister of Shibden Hall. You own the place, as you   
Never tire of reminding everyone. It's clearly a snub,  
Especially when a place has been set. I assume he felt  
Particularly humiliated in front of his mother who was  
Polite and well-mannered." Aunt Anne said, "Yes, she was

Very p- quiet..." (which didn't help). Anne said quietly,  
"He isn't good enough for you." I saw through that.  
"You just don't want me to marry in case one day   
I will have a greater claim to Shibden than you."  
Then a letter came from Crow Nest. "I'm going out."


	29. For I Am Wretchedness Itself

Sniffling into my handkerchief, wrapped in a tartan blanket,  
And arguing with Marian, my breakfast ignored, I read  
Ann's letter. "My dearest. Captain Sutherland and his mother

Arrived last night. I write in utter misery. What I said to you,  
I bitterly repent. If ever the prayers of so true a friend  
May avail for another, may yours be heard for me, that the gate

Of mercy may not be forever closed upon me, for I am  
Wretchedness itself." Compared to her misery, my sister's  
Tired complaints about me, my inheritance, my behavior

All fall short, pale and wither away. Slowly, I refold the note,  
Finish my cup of tea and rise. "I'm going out," I say. My stride,  
Despite my cold, is once more long, vigorous, and determined.


	30. Packing, Supposed To Be

I was raised to not entirely ignore the servants, because  
Of course one's comfort depends upon them doing the job  
They are paid for. Yet, as I've grown older, I've come to see  
That sometimes banking on their loyalty requires... making

Occasional deposits, as it were. I feel this now as I arrive  
At Crow Nest and James takes my hat and stick without a word,  
And by the time I've got my greatcoat off, his arm is there.  
He simply says, "Ma'am," and I know that he knows 

Why I've been called, and he too wants  
My intervention for Miss Walker. I stride into the room.  
James announces me. The Captain rises, introduces  
Himself, shakes my hand, introduces his 

Mother. I say, "I'm sorry the weather wasn't kinder to you.  
Where's Miss Walker?" Catherine says, "Upstairs, packing...  
Supposed to be." The captain is a bit snide. "She doesn't  
Seem as happy to go as we are to have her. Miss Rawson

Has explained the delicacy with regard to the family.  
Thank you, Miss Lister, for your sensitivity and sound  
Judgment on the matter." I say, "She can make a full recovery,  
Given the right sort of help. She's herself on all subjects

But religious despondency." He gave me his itinerary,  
And then I headed upstairs to see how Ann's packing  
Was getting on, Catherine having hinted that it was not  
Getting on as well as it needed to. I hurried upstairs.


	31. Not Packing Particularly

I sat on the floor contemplating my trunk, my bonnets,  
Shawls, layers because Scotland's so cold, my pictures  
And my art things when a rap on my door produced Anne:

The perfect piece of art, and I hurriedly rose to go  
And kiss her, tell her I didn't want to go, beg her to stay  
The night, and she said she would. With such a promise,

I was better at packing my things all afternoon, hoping,  
Wishing, pushing off the guilt, and simply desiring her  
That night, and she did not leave me wanting. Her hand

Between my legs was an astonishment, a revelation,  
As it had been in York before... And for the few minutes  
When she brought me to peak, I forgot my small guilts.


	32. At the Window

Looking out, the world seems brighter to me, there,  
Than inside, here, despite these sunny walls that reflect  
How I think about Anne. She knocks and steps into the room  
And I launch myself toward her, trying to kiss her  
And speak at the same time. I tell her I don't want to go,

Beg her to stay the night; she sees the need in my eyes,  
And readily agrees. Daytime embraces lead, eventually,  
To night-time passions. She does right by me, but then,  
Unexpectedly, breaks down, tells me how hard it is for her  
When people take her for a man, how she could never expect

Someone like me to recognize her, accept her, that she is  
So busy rising above the things people say about her, or  
The looks they give her, calling her Jack, asking if her cock  
Stand (and whatever does that even mean?) and leading her  
To feel unexpectedly low. A tear runs down her left cheek, 

Where I can see it, and she says, "But you came so close,"  
And she clutches me closer, not to give comfort, as she does  
Usually, but to take it from me, as I stroke her hair, hoping.  
Praying that we can find a way out of our difficulties apart.  
Someday to return to each other to find our way together.


	33. I Rise Above It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I just kept thinking about that one scene.

Anne, so much more well-read than I am, often quotes the classics.  
She quite likes Euclid and Epicurus and Horace, men I've never read  
'Til now. She loans me her Greek and Latin translations, as I loan her

Books on landscaping. We are both always late getting the volumes  
Back--me because I didn't read them through, her because she took  
Too many notes and wants to refer to them again as she makes her

Improvements on the Shibden estate. My family has been improving  
With landscaping as well as strategic marriages for generations.  
Perhaps I've been lucky that their expectations have not spilled

Over onto me. But also, I feel like they couldn't have expectations  
For the woman I have found myself to be--as horrible and amazing  
As that has turned out to be. Am I natural or an oddity? I don't know.

But here, now, in my bed, on the last night before the captain drags  
Me up to Scotland--and it will be lovely to see Elizabeth but--Anne  
Lets me ride her finger to a higher place. Elysium? Gradually,

I soften, and then realize that she's distracted. She says, "I understand  
Why you can't commit to me. It's impossible, I know. How  
Can anybody? What am I? Every day... Every day, I rise above it, 

The things people say. I walk into a room or down the street   
And I see the way people look at me, and the things they say,  
And I rise above it, because I've trained myself to not see it

Or hear it, until it's become second nature to me, and I forget  
Just how impossible it is for someone to accept that. As Horace said,  
'You may drive out nature with a pitchfork, yet she'll constantly 

Be running back.' I thought you saw me, as impossible as that  
Is, as much as nature pushes us to be what the world wants.  
Yet you came so close." I kiss her crying, grieving our loss.


	34. Traveler's Prayer

I usually like the thought of travel until right before  
It happens, when I have second thoughts and feelings

And wish the plans hadn't been made. It's like that now.  
As much as I look forward to seeing my sister and

Her small children, with all their energy, still I feel  
More strongly about the bible I bought for Anne,

Including its short epigram: "For he shall give  
His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all

Thy ways." She pulled me to her, as we stood  
Together at the window, looking out on the hills,

And I remember the psalm: "I look to the hills,  
Whence cometh my help. My help is in the Lord,"

And on one hand, I know that's true. I think, surely,  
In the highlands I will find a way to return

To myself, and thereafter, here, to her, but this  
Moment of parting fills me with great doubt. Can I

Believe her rock-hard certainty in a benevolent  
God, when he made us this way against his own will?


	35. The Impecunious Knight

_< When first I met this odious, vulgar toad of a woman,_

_She curtsied deeply to me, which seemed odd, buy hey ho,_

_I had other things on my mind—taking the measure_

_Of her son, Captain Sutherland, whose words were fair_

_But whose tone spoke differently—and I had to hurry_

_Upstairs to Ann. But now as we stand outside the door_

_To Crow Nest, she addresses me again, to my disgust,_

_As I stand watching the carriage come around,_

_And worrying about Ann’s health, this woman has_

_The temerity to ask whether a Sir Alexander McKenzie_

_Had ever been mentioned, her nephew, handsome_

_(According to her) but, she admits freely, impecunious._

_I say I’ve never heard of him, but she presses on,_

_Intimating that the family is searching for a wife_

_For him, a young lady with a fortune perhaps…_

_I recoil, say, “I should hope the captain would make_

_Short work of anyone who tried to marry her to pay_

_Off his debts!” She seems quite miffed. Her farewell_

_Handshake is icy, as is the feeling in my gut. I think,_

_As long as they find a good medical man for her_

_In Edinburgh, it will all be worth it… >_


	36. You're Wearing It

Once again a host of miseries threaten to descend,  
And I only hold them off by long practice, my bearing  
Erect and proper, voice low and civil, despite the cold,  
Cloudy day, the vulgar woman, and my fears for Ann.

Behind me, she embraces a struggling Catherine, who is  
Younger and less well-versed, fortunately for her,   
In suffering. She hurries back inside, barely holding back  
Her tears. There will be time enough for tears hereafter,

I think, as I turn and look at Ann. Then my eye is caught  
By a small flash of gold upon her breast: the pin I gave her  
With the gondolier, symbol of safe passage. Unconsciously,  
I reach out and touch it with my thumb, then pull her in

For an embrace of my own. I whisper in her ear, "You'll be  
All right. Look after yourself." A moment only. Then  
The horses hurry their carriage away north. I stand there,  
Praying God will hear my words, soon make them true.


End file.
